


Clever Lines

by ros3bud009



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Alcohol, Drunken Kissing, Flirting, Kissing, M/M, Orion Pax Being Very Honest, Pre-War, Ratchet Worrying Too Much, friendly teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 14:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11969505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ros3bud009/pseuds/ros3bud009
Summary: “You really are going soft if a nerd like that has you wound up tighter than a turborabbit in heat. That why you flipped your lid? Worried about him finding out about the Party Ambulance that comes out when the sun sets and your papers are finished?”Ratchet is afraid of the cute archivist finding out about what he does when he's not working on becoming a medic, Jazz is endlessly amused, and Orion Pax is a mech on a mission.





	Clever Lines

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is inspired by A Softer World, specifically #319:
> 
> "I think you are beautiful and I would like to kiss you. I can think up some clever lines, if you'd prefer. But I wanted to say that, first. (None of those lines seemed to be about you or me.)"
> 
> And at the end of the day I love the pre-war friend group, I love tall and lanky and shockingly proactive Orion Pax, I love the idea of Jazz and Ratchet being party friends, and I love the OTP, so. Here we go.

“Oh scrap,” Ratchet hissed as he spun on his pede. He blindly reached out towards Jazz, grabbing him by the closest edge of armor he could get his digits around to pull him towards the same direction he was facing.

“The frag, Ratch--?”

“Just act casual and don’t look over there!”

Jazz huffed as he settled next to Ratchet, crossing one arm over his chest while the other brought his drink to his lips for a slow sip, before replying, “Well, that’d go better if we weren’t staring at a wall, but I guess I’ll make it work.”

Ratchet’s engine grumbled but he had to admit that this was far less conspicuous than he had hoped for. He could blame the high grade for the sheer lack of spatial awareness that brought him here, and that was true, but he was pretty sure blind panic had a big part.

“Ok, fine. We can turn towards each other.”

“But I was starting to enjoy the view,” Jazz deadpanned, as if Ratchet couldn’t read the way his visor flickered with humor. Still, he dutifully twisted and leaned his shoulder against the wall, all grace and casual confidence. Ratchet was sure he wasn’t nearly so convincing, never mind that he had never had his drinking companion’s grace, but he did his best with what he had.

Jazz had the handsome frame of a nimble dancer and the Unmaker’s smile to charm his way around the city. Ratchet, on the other hand, had neither, and had instead learned to utilize the bulk of his frame and the boldness of his personality to make his way through crowds and into mecha’s sparks when he cared to.

They had both made their individual marks on the party scene before they had finally crossed paths all those years ago. The night that the Party Ambulance and the famously infamous Jazz met was the night they got completely sloshed and argued, danced, brawled, and fragged each other well into the next morning. When they woke up sprawled across a berth neither of them recognized, they both came to the conclusion that they were best friends.

The fact that Ratchet’s partying nights were fewer and further between now, not to mention far from the wildness of those years, hadn’t kept him and Jazz from being inseparable when Ratchet wasn’t waist-deep in finishing medical school. Ratchet was beginning to suspect that Jazz was using him as an excuse to pull himself back a bit as well, but he wasn’t about to complain.

Jazz was an incredible friend.

And that was why he gave Ratchet the dignity of not immediately looking out into the crowd to try to find the mech who had Ratchet in a tizzy and no doubt giving them away. Instead Jazz held Ratchet’s gaze and asked, “So, who walked in that you’re so desperate to avoid?”

Ratchet grimaced and took a large gulp of his high grade.

“Have I ever mentioned that one archivist?”

“The snarky one you nearly started a physical fight with when he said he couldn’t find that article you needed because they were closing in ten minutes?” Jazz replied with ease, because of course, the mech was like a sponge for any information he thought might be important or embarrassing later.

“No, not him--”

“Then the cute one who volunteered to help you find the article anyway and then spent the rest of the night at some café with you so you could use his access to the digital archives and finish your papers on time?”

Ratchet felt embarrassed heat spread up his neck and into his face. It hadn’t been his proudest moment, but having three papers due the same day had left him with little dignity and endless gratitude towards that archivist. He still wasn’t sure if it was better or worse that the archivist had also been unfairly attractive and that they had actually gotten along well enough that the last couple hours at the café had actually just been chatting, admittedly a little deliriously on Ratchet’s half.

At the very least it made it more embarrassing.

“That’s the one.”

Jazz’s visor brightened with interest as his mouth started to curl around the lip of his cube, clearly enjoying Ratchet’s flustered expression more than his drink.

“Orion Pax, right?”

“Of course you’d remember,” Ratchet grumbled, receiving a snicker in response.

“Never forget a name or a face. Speaking of--”

“Don’t look!”

“Relax. I can be subtle,” Jazz reassured, lifting his drink to his mouth again so he could tap his pointer digit against the side of his visor. “Let me do a little bit of espionage to soothe your overcharged spark.”

“As if you haven’t gone drink for drink with me.” Still, after a moment, Ratchet sighed. “A helm taller than me but he’s lanky, all legs--”

“Lanky? You usually like ‘em--”

“Focus, Jazz. Yes, he’s lanky. Red and blue paintjob, and he’s got—he’s got this crest on his forehelm along with audial finials on the sides--”

“Got ‘im,” Jazz said. His helm tilted slightly. “No kidding about lanky though. Course, with that face and those legs? Can’t argue there.”

Ratchet would swear he could feel a processor ache coming on.

“What is he doing, Jazz?”

“He’s getting a drink.”

“Really?”

Jazz’s brows didn’t need to be visible for him to give a withering look.

“Do I need to remind you we’re at a bar.”

Ratchet grimaced but pushed on, “He just doesn’t seem the type. More of a ‘fun night out is a night in’ type.”

Jazz snorted, replying, “You really are going soft if a nerd like that has you wound up tighter than a turborabbit in heat. That why you flipped your lid? Worried about him finding out about the Party Ambulance that comes out when the sun sets and your papers are finished?”

Ratchet glowered at him, turning his helm to look away before realizing his folly. He was now looking out into the crowded bar and by the Allspark, there was Orion across the way. The archivist’s back was towards them though as he chatted with the bartender, and—

“Who the frag is _that_?”

Jazz whistled as, on top of the one gigantic mech at Orion’s side that Ratchet was talking about, yet another mech sidled up to Orion’s other side and took a drink that Orion handed to him.

“Well, I can officially say you don’t gotta worry ‘bout your little secrets, because he’s hanging with folks who’re shadier than you ever were, Ratch.”

The first mech was enormous – a little over a helm taller than Orion and far broader with heavy looking silver armor. There was at least one large healing weld across their back that Ratchet could see from the distance. The other mech was shorter, but their build was still sturdy, certainly one built to withstand a fight. And when they turned their helm, their face was completely covered with a visor.

A visor that Ratchet would swear glinted, as if they had met optics.

Ratchet immediately looked away, turning to Jazz to find his friend still zeroed in on Orion and his companions.

“You know them?”

Jazz’s lips curled into a smirk.

“Like I said, I never forget a name or a face,” he replied. “You never did get into going to the Pits, did ya?”

Ratchet’s brows furrowed. “You mean gladiator fights? Course not. I see more than my fair share of spilt energon as it is, thank you very much. Why?”

“No reason,” Jazz lied before throwing his helm back and starting to chug his drink.

Ratchet watched him with narrowed optics before his high grade-addled processor put it together.

“No. _No_. There’s no way that those two are _gladiators_. What would Orion be doing with ruffians like that?”

With one last gulp, Jazz finished his drink and grinned at Ratchet.

“Like you’re one to talk. Now stop worrying,” Jazz insisted as he tipped the empty cube towards Ratchet, “and finish your drink.”

Ratchet’s drink was still at least half full, never mind the fact that he was beginning to suspect what Jazz had planned.

“Oh no. Don’t you dare,” Ratchet hissed, nudging Jazz’s shoulder with the servo holding his drink as he leaned in. “I have this under control without you forcing your way in as my wing-mech.”

“Gonna go back to your staring contest with the wall?” Jazz teased, his grin full of too many dentae when that was enough to have Ratchet’s face twist with flustered indignation. “Come on. Finish your drink and let me get the ball rolling.”

“I don’t need you to--!”

“If you don’t finish that drink,” Jazz warned as quicker than Ratchet could track, the cube was plucked from his digits, “then I’ll finish it for you. It’s up to you how much liquid courage you want in you once I’ve done my magic.”

Ratchet shot Jazz a look and his engine growled, but he still took the cube back and chugged it.

And then once it was empty it was in Jazz’s grasp again.

“I’ll just get us another round,” Jazz purred as he pushed off the wall. “Don’t miss me too much.”

And then he slipped into the crowd. Jazz had a nearly supernatural ability to find his way through the busiest of bars quickly, so it wasn’t long before he had found a place at the bar next to the mech with the visor. Whoever they were, they weren’t surprised to see Jazz. Or Ratchet didn’t think they were, but he couldn’t really tell because of said visor.

Orion though startled, and then—

And then he turned and looked in Ratchet’s direction.

Their gazes met and Ratchet would have sworn his spark stopped right then and there. Orion’s optics were bright and without a doubt focused on his, though he looked unsurprised to see Ratchet at least. In fact, Orion smiled, small and too sweet, and Ratchet had no idea how to react to that. Ratchet knew how to flirt with mecha like himself – mecha who drank too much and got into too many fights and wanted to just escape life for those brief hours spent on a dance floor before jumping right back in thrice as hard. If the mech even three stools over from Orion had caught his attention, it would have been easy to throw them a wink, to stroll over and drop a line.

The Party Ambulance knew how to flirt.

The medical student with a crush on an archivist he had once shared energon with while talking about archival organizational systems and favorite cities and plans for the next couple of years?

He had no fragging idea.

Before Ratchet could think about it, his servo lifted and gave a small wave.

A _wave_.

Jazz would never let him live that down.

Before Orion had an opportunity to react to that, the large grey mech beside him grabbed his attention, leaving Ratchet to just awkwardly stand by the wall while he watched the scene across the way. Something was being placed in Orion’s servos and Jazz leaned past the visored mech to say something to him.

Primus. Ratchet was regretting not being more forceful about keeping his drink because at least it would have given him something to do. Instead all he could do was fight the urge to squirm, wondering if it wouldn’t just be better to go over and face the embarrassment he had made of himself face-on.

But then Orion was turning, glancing up at the grey mech for one last exchange, and then he was making his way through the crowd.

Towards Ratchet.

Ratchet could only stand there in a mixture of trepidation and idiotic hope as he watched Orion’s progress. It certainly took him longer than it had Jazz who now seemed more than happy to lounge against the bar to chat with Orion’s companions, though his visor was no doubt hiding a gaze that was squarely on Ratchet.

And then there Orion was.

His smile was still small but sincere and each of his servos held a cube of high grade.

“Hello, Ratchet,” Orion greeted as he stepped closer, the volume of his voice just loud enough to be heard over the mild din of the bar. Still though, it didn’t sound strained or at all tinged by any of the awkwardness that Ratchet felt consumed by. Orion lifted one of the cubes in invitation. “Your friend told me you were in need of a drink.”

That slagger.

Ratchet grasped that kernel of irritation and held on tight to pull himself out of his fluster.

“Better not have let him convince you to buy it. Jazz is damned good at getting other mecha to pay for his drinks,” Ratchet replied as he took the cube. Somehow though that just made Orion’s lips curl more which in turn made Ratchet’s spark flutter.

“I’ll admit that I didn’t take much convincing.”

“Too easy,” Ratchet teased as he took a sip. It was a sweeter mix than he was used to – delicious for certain but lighter on engex content than Ratchet would let himself spend shanix on. “It’s good.” After a beat Ratchet quickly added, “Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it.”

Ratchet couldn’t hold Orion’s gaze for long, not when he had no idea what Jazz had told him or what to even do with himself. Ratchet was caught between acting friendly like he had when they had met and acting flirty like he would with any other mech he was attracted to, not sure which was the better option with a mech like Orion. So somehow Ratchet ended up just blurting out, “So, you come here often?”

If Jazz wasn’t quick about it, Ratchet was going to kill himself over that cliché line before Jazz ever got the chance.

Orion’s expression wavered, slightly frowning, and this one was definitely a record for how quickly Ratchet had fragged up—

“No, I must admit that I actually came specifically to see you.”

Ratchet’s optics widened as they snapped up to Orion’s face and he reset his audials.

“What?”

Orion was now the one to glance away, looking a bit abashed. “It was pure chance that I was in the medical section that day since I don’t work on the public side of the archives often so I was unsure that we would ever happen to cross paths again, and one of my friends has a particular talent for finding mecha so I—I asked him for a favor.”

Ratchet couldn’t help looking over at the two gladiators – how had this darling archivist found himself friends with mecha like that? – before returning to Orion, who was now looking down at him, concerned optics searching him for a reaction.

And that’s when it had really set in. Orion had wanted to see him again, and instead of simply hoping to cross paths, Orion had someone _find_ Ratchet so they could make sure they met again. And on top of that, he was worried that Ratchet would react badly to that fact. However, Ratchet couldn’t help being impressed and, quite frankly, flattered. His sparkrate picked up and his face heated and oh was that glimmer of hope getting brighter.

“Well,” Ratchet said, tipping his cube towards Orion with an embarrassed chuckle, “you managed to find me despite my best efforts.”

“Did you not want to be found?” Optimus asked, concerned still, and it was cute. It could have been the high grade talking, but Ratchet was certain that the archivist couldn’t have looked any more adorable than with his brows knitted and his optics wide.

“More that I didn’t want to be found _here_ ,” Ratchet admitted with a shrug, pausing to take a gulp of his drink for strength. “Easier to keep up a more flattering image of myself at the archives than here.”

Optimus’s helm tilted slightly, but something like amusement flickered in his brilliant blue optics.

“And what image have I found here then?”

“Med student by day, party ambulance by night, and all around pain in the aft,” Ratchet recited, as he had a million times before at thousands of parties.

Orion’s chuckle, warm and barely audible over the noise of the bar, was by far the greatest reaction he had ever gotten, and Ratchet’s spark swelled.

“Is that what you think I see?” he asked, tone full of humor.

“If not yet, then give me a couple more drinks to prove my point,” Ratchet insisted, his lips curling at the corners as he felt himself relax. The almost familiar ease he had felt with Orion before was back again.

That or the high grade he had chugged was kicking in.

“I thought Jazz was the one looking for free drinks.” Orion was _teasing_ him and Ratchet couldn’t help laughing aloud now.

“No, no! I didn’t mean—I can pay for my own drinks, thank you very much.”

Orion made his way closer, shifting to the side so Ratchet wasn’t trapped between him and the wall, and Ratchet thought to himself that he really wouldn’t have minded that so much. And Primus was that a thought he shouldn’t be having at the moment.

“Then I really don’t see what you have to worry about. I’ve yet to see any supposed ‘party ambulance’ or ‘pain in the aft’.”

Ratchet rolled his optics before replying, “Need I remind you that I was the deranged medical student who had you up until sunrise because I had papers to finish.”

“And I had a lovely time,” Orion replied easily.

“I also nearly punched out your coworker.”

“You’re not the first and you won’t be the last,” Orion insisted, shrugging ever so slightly in the face of Ratchet’s surprise. “He’s not a particularly likeable mech.”

“And you think I am?” Ratchet asked with a snort.

Orion immediately, without a second thought, nodded and said, “I do.”

Ratchet nearly choked on his high grade, wincing as he forced it down his intake correctly and tried to ignore how his whole frame burned.

“Well, that’s very flattering of you.”

A moment passed, and then another, and Ratchet was too flustered to think of anything to say, instead just focusing on his drink and trying desperately to come up with something—

“Ratchet?”

Ratchet’s optics flicked up to Orion’s face. The archivist was staring down at him, optics bright, _focused_. And he was leaning closer – not too close, nothing invasive but feeling all the more intimate for it.

“You should know that I wanted to find you because I think you’re beautiful and I would like to kiss you,” Orion said, quieter now that they were close, quieter but in that deep voice of his, and Ratchet’s spark pulsed _hard_ at the blatant confession. He opened his mouth, feeling as if that deserved something in response, but Ratchet was wordless. Orion continued, “I know that usually mecha use more, ah, _clever_ lines than that in situations like this, but none of the ones I found seemed to be about you or me. So if you would prefer, I can come up with something, but I wanted to say that first.”

It took rebooting his voicebox twice before Ratchet could stammer out, “No, that—that won’t be necessary, that was – that was good. I mean--” Ratchet grimaced, his face feeling as if it was melting off because this was ridiculous, he was making a complete glitch of himself.

But Orion didn’t stop smiling. If anything, he looked rather charmed.

“I hadn’t realized you were so shy,” Orion commented, teased really, and that was enough to finally snap Ratchet out of his reverie with a startled laugh.

“I’ve been accused to be many a terrible thing, Orion, but shy isn’t one of them,” Ratchet said as he waved his servo in dismissal of the idea.

“You could have fooled me,” Orion insisted, unmoved but clearly amused.

“Well, that’s--!” Ratchet paused, floundering for a moment as his chuckles trailed off, until finally he continued, “It’s a very recent development, I assure you.”

Orion’s optics cycled with interest.

“Oh? How recent?”

“Well,” Ratchet drawled, enchanted by the way Orion looked at him, as if he was somehow equally enchanted by the mess of a mech before him, “how long ago was that night at the café?”

That finally caught the archivist by surprise. Orion’s expression froze and his optics were nearly blindingly bright.

“Ratchet?”

“Yes?”

Orion’s digits were gentle under Ratchet’s chin as he leaned down closer.

“May I kiss you?”

“ _Please_.”

Orion leaned down further, closing the distance as his free servo found a place on Ratchet’s waist, and Ratchet eagerly reached up to pull him in faster.

Until the splash of his forgotten drink across his digits and down Orion’s back startled him and Ratchet could feel humiliation shoot across his lines lightning fast as he yanked his servo back and tried to pull away.

“ _Frag_ , I’m sorry --!”

”It’s alright,” Orion laughed, keeping Ratchet close as he plucked the now empty cube from Ratchet’s servo and placed it on a table next to them where his own drink was. Ratchet couldn’t remember when the archivist had abandoned the drink, couldn’t really think past the embarrassment that he had just dumped a drink on Orion, and now of all times--!

And then Orion was pulling him back in and kissing him.

Orion’s lips were sweet with lingering high grade and impossibly soft, and Ratchet quickly lost himself in the feeling of them as he clung to the archivist, kissing back with fervor. Warm servos cupping his cheek and pressing against his lower back, a clever glossa meeting his own eagerly, and the gentle rumbling of Orion’s engine when Ratchet nipped and sucked on his upper lip – it all left Ratchet feeling heady with affection and lust.

Ratchet couldn’t help a muffled groan as Orion retaliated by capturing his bottom lip between his dentae.

“Orion?”

The archivist hummed in question as he kissed the corner of Ratchet’s lips, giving him room to speak, and Ratchet’s spark throbbed.

“You can’t let me go home with you,” Ratchet insisted, aware that the effect was ruined by how breathless he sounded and how his digits pulled at Orion, “no matter what I say later.”

“That’s rather presumptuous of you,” Orion commented, voice full of amusement and somehow deeper than before. Ratchet shuddered slightly and moved his helm so their mouths brushed again, stealing a quick, wet kiss.

“That’s just how things usually go when I’m overcharged and kissing someone at a bar,” Ratchet said as he nuzzled his way under Orion’s chin to drag his glossa up a prominent fuel line before sucking on it. Orion’s engine gave a subtle rev at that and his servo behind Ratchet’s helm stroked encouragingly. “But I like you too much to ruin this with a one-night stand.”

Orion moved then, swooping down to kiss his way into Ratchet’s mouth, long and deeply enough that by the time he pulled away, Ratchet panted against his lips since his overworked cooling fans found little relief in the crowded bar.

“You can’t ruin this.”

Ratchet snorted and replied, “Is that a challenge?”

“More like reassurance,” Orion replied as he trailed his soft, damp lips along Ratchet’s check towards his audials. “Though I can promise you we won’t interface tonight.”

Orion’s mouth was hot around Ratchet’s audial finial and he gasped aloud as his frame arched up against Orion’s.

“You sure? At the rate you’re going, I could be convinced.”

“Which is why we won’t.” Orion drew back until their gazes met, his expression serious as he said, “Not while you’re overcharged.”

And that—

That was new.

Ratchet’s spark ached with emotion strong enough that he dared not name it.

“That’s very considerate of you,” Ratchet managed, aware of how ridiculous that sounded when they were entangled together, spilt high grade growing sticky on Orion’s back and Ratchet’s lips nearly feeling bruised from their fevered kissing. “And that only makes me like you more, so now that we’re agreed about what we won’t do tonight, can we return to what we _are_ doing?”

The serious expression eased into a warm smile as Orion leaned in, but only enough to press their forehelms together. “At this rate, we’ll never get back to our friends.”

“Frag ‘em. This is what they wanted anyway, isn’t it?”

“A fair point, Ratchet.” Orion pressed a slow kiss to Ratchet’s lips. “But we’ll have to face their gloating eventually.”

Ratchet frowned and somehow that just earned him another, albeit chaste, kiss.

“Fine. But you owe me at least one more session like this before the end of the night,” Ratchet demanded, finally removing one of his servos from Orion’s frame to point at him, “and your commlink.”

Orion huffed a soft laugh as he nodded.

“Perhaps even plans for an actual date?”

Ratchet rolled his optics as he stepped back, though he reached to grab Orion by the wrist.

“Obviously. Now come on. Let’s get you cleaned up and then we’ll find where those slaggers got off to. Your big frag-off friend can’t be hard to find in here.”

“Of course.”

Orion’s whole face was lit up with tenderness and quiet joy, and Ratchet swore his processor hiccupped.

Ratchet had been so wrong before, because this. This mech, this _face_ , looking at him with such adoration, was the most adorable thing he had ever seen.

“By the Allspark,” Ratchet murmured. “You really do think I’m likeable.”

And Orion laughed, bright and rumbling.

“Exceedingly so, Ratchet.”

Within seconds, Ratchet had Orion back against the wall and was savoring the sensation of laughter against his lips.

Jazz could wait another five minutes before getting Ratchet’s begrudging gratitude.


End file.
